


The Final Scion Chronicles, Book 1: Sandstorm

by Westdragoner



Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Soldiers, F/F, Parental Death, War-appropriate murder, pretty much everyone is an orphan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westdragoner/pseuds/Westdragoner
Summary: Trynn Zenobia is no stranger to loss. Now, ten cycles after the death of her mother, her father is killed fighting Euphorium, the city that destroyed her home and sent her people into hiding long before she was born. Alone for the first time on a war-torn planet, she no longer has hope for the future or love for the world around her. When her parents’ friend forces her to join a class that will teach her to fight, she resigns herself to hating it. Over time, Trynn and the other kids realize that, while their elders have long since stopped fighting, this war will not end without help.It’s a story about healing from trauma, about surviving not just the events, but the aftermath, too. It’s about learning to be okay, even if you can never be the same as you once were; it’s about learning that even if you’re damaged, you are not broken and you can reach your happy ending all on your own.
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

My squad is my family, my gun is my provider, and protector, and my rule is to kill or be killed.”  
― Ishmael Beah, A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier

Sed terrae graviora manent  
But on earth, greater dangers await  
Virgil, Aeneid 6:84

10th day of Early Dust, 18 turns, Cycle 158

It started with a dead body.

Trynn had seen bodies before, but never up close like this. Everyone in the colony had lost someone; the unlucky ones, like her, had lost more than just one person. Though they were still safely hidden away in the caves, far from the eyes of the city, it didn’t change the fact that the soldiers who went outside sometimes died.

The first funeral she’d ever been to was her mother’s, back when she was still a five-cycler. She was fifteen now, and ten cycles between then and now had drastically dulled her memories, to the point that she no longer remembered what Tryst Zenobia once sounded like. Tryst had been wrapped in linens at the funeral, body too damaged for anyone to see her in death. Trynn’s earliest memories, the clear ones, painted a picture of sunlight streaming through golden brown hair, of breathless, dazzling smiles, but not much else. If not for the pictures of the woman lovingly displayed back at home, Trynn didn’t think she would even remember what her mother looked like. Though, to be fair, she’d always found it difficult to reconcile the happy, _alive_ person from so long ago with that of the flat, boring one in her dad’s old photos.

Tryst had died a long time ago, but Trynn could still remember the funeral, a little. It was large; Tryst had been a very important person in the colony, one of the ones who’d made their escape from the city possible. When she had died, the entire colony had gone into mourning. Many of them had turned out to pay respects to her pyre, before the flames had consumed her and sent her ashes high, into the air and on out into space to sleep among the stars forever.

At least, that’s what Trynn’s dad had told her. She’d been far too young to understand; flights of fancy were much easier for a child to grasp than such a heavy, permanent concept such as death.

The first body she could remember seeing was her friend’s dad, six cycles ago. He’d been out with a team, scavenging supplies from the old city, and they’d been ambushed. He hadn’t been the only casualty, but he’d been the only one she’d known. Her friend, Rill Daley, had been devastated. She’d been there for Tryst’s funeral, but Rill had never been able to empathize with Trynn until she’d lost a parent of her own. Rill had cried, loudly, through the entire funeral, and Trynn had spent the entire time comforting her. It was a good thing, too; it had been sort of creepy seeing Mr. Daley laid out, his lower half wrapped in linens, and she hadn’t really wanted to get closer. She’d had nightmares that night of Mr. Daley’s body sitting up and grabbing her, and she’d been too scared to even look at him at the funeral pyre the next day.

She’d been to other funerals since then, for people she knew and those she didn’t. She’d never approached the bodies, didn’t want to see someone so clearly dead. She’d been to other funerals, the same as everyone else in the colony, and with each one she began to understand more and more about death and all the ways it shaped their lives.

So Trynn was no stranger to dead bodies, but that didn’t mean she liked them. Funerals were just a part of growing up in a war zone. Each one was the same: upsetting, but ultimately monotonous in the long parade of deaths that afflicted the colony. Usually, she’d show up, give condolences, watch the burning of the pyre, and leave, but this funeral wasn’t like the other ones. This body wasn’t just someone she knew, wasn’t an adult she’d seen in passing but ultimately knew only through her father. No, this body was special.

This body _was_ her father, and now Trynn was all alone.

He’d died only days before, helping a refugee fleeing the city. After most of the fighting had stopped cycles ago, Mallox Zenobia had taken up sun running with a passion. He did his best to help those from the city make the dangerous journey across the desert to the rebel colony. He’d recently been making jokes about getting too old to fight the Finders nowadays. Trynn didn’t think those jokes were very funny anymore.

Like Mr. Daley, Mallox’s body was openly displayed for the mourners to view. He wore ribbons of gold and gemstones braided into his sandy brown hair, with beautiful golden chains pooling at the base of his throat. Flowing, bright-colored robes clothed him, covering up the gaping hole that had burnt through his chest, or at least that’s what she imagined. The adults still thought she was too young to know the truth. They’d only told her he had died saving someone, but she knew better. She’d never really been able to be a child; there had only been a time where she hadn’t understood what was happening, why the world was so broken and why her mother was gone, and then there had been a time that she did. He’d been shot, he’d been murdered, just like all the other bodies, and she might have been young, but she wasn’t stupid.

For the first time, she had approached the body, and now as she stood staring down at her father, she felt hollow. It had been a long, long line of funerals that had started with her mother and wandered its way here to end with her father, and she was done. Done with everything, because clearly nothing good would ever happen again. She was the only one left, just another war-torn orphan in a sea of frightened faces. Hadn’t she suffered enough? Hadn’t her family paid its toll already? Death already had one of her parents; why, now, did it finally take the other?

A hand laid itself on her shoulder. “Hey,” Rill said, “you okay?”

Trynn looked up from her father’s body, feeling like she was in a daze. “Am I okay?” she parroted absently. “I don’t know.”

Rill’s eyes were red from crying so much; since Mr. Daley died, she’d been living with Trynn and her dad. Mallox had cared for her like she was his own daughter; Trynn was sure this must feel like Rill had lost two dads, now.

Rill sniffed, rubbing her nose to hide the tear that slid down her cheeks. “Yeah,” she said, fiddling with her long dark hair. “Me too.”

She’d told Trynn once she didn’t like her hair down, that it fell in her face too much, and that was why she always wore it pulled up into a messy knot atop her head. With her big, round glasses that made her eyes look owlishly large, Trynn had always thought she looked kind of like a really young librarian.

She was clearly uncomfortable now, her hair falling in long ringlets around her face, heavily braided through with golden threads and precious stones. She kept pushing it behind her ears with a frown, and she wouldn’t stop messing with her fancy robes.

Trynn could relate; Desolan formalwear was gorgeous, but it was so stuffy it was nearly impossible stay comfortable in for long. If she’d been anywhere else, Trynn would have probably taken off her shoes and gone barefoot by now.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she said, taking Rill’s hand and weaving her way back through the crowd. Absently, Trynn thought she caught the sound of a familiar voice, and when she turned she saw Sarvirra, the colony’s second-in-command and a friend of her parents, walking through the crowd behind her. The older woman, though starting to get on in cycles, could still be confused for a woman in her mid-30’s. Though most of the ethnicities present on Desola were muddled from over a century of intermixing bloodlines, Sarvirra’s Spanish ancestry still made itself known through her thick, wavy hair and angular face.

“Hey,” the woman said when she noticed them. “How are you girls doing?”

Trynn was too tired to do more than shrug. Rill let out a little sniffle.

“Yeah, I’m right there with you,” Sarvirra agreed with a pained grimace. “Are you two going to be okay living on your own?”

Anguish flitted across Rill’s face, but before she could start to cry again, Trynn gave her a tug on the arm. “We’ll be fine,” she said gruffly to Sarvirra, then kept walking, Rill’s hand clenched tightly in hers. “Excuse us.”

Sarvirra’s eyes raised at their abrupt departure, but when Trynn dared a glance over her shoulder she could see the woman heading off in the opposite direction.

They made their way to a table piled high with ribbons of each and every color. Flowers were too hard to grow in the caves, where any space that could grow plants was used for growing food or other useful flora. Ribbons were much easier to make, and so had been used in place of flowers since humans first came to Desola.

“What color are you getting?” Rill said wetly, wiping her sleeve across her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Trynn admitted again. She’d barely said anything else for days, but it was true. People kept wanting to get in her face, asking question after question, and she barely felt like a person anymore, how was she supposed to know the answers? What was she supposed to say?

Trynn combed a hand through the various colors arrayed before her, eyes alighting on a shiny golden one, the same shade as the ones woven into her father’s hair. It was a painful reminder of everything she had lost and so she immediately untangled it from the others and wrapped it around her forearm, elbow to wrist and around her thumb, before tying the end off.

Beside her, Rill had fished out a length of red, fastening it to her arm the same way. She held it up for Trynn’s inspection, and Trynn realized it was the same shade as the robe they’d dressed him up in, the color of a ruby sparkling in the sun. The color of fresh blood.

She took Rill by the hand again, their ribboned hands finding each other, their fingers lacing together. They stood there for a moment, two lonely children in a sea of adults, surrounded by brightly colored swirling robes and glittering jewels and golden adornments, and none of it mattered.

They only had each other, now.

It could have been minutes, or hours, later, but eventually Rill shook Trynn’s shoulder. “Hey,” she said quietly, “what do you think they’re arguing about?”

She pointed subtly, and Trynn followed her gaze to see Sarvirra a little ways off, in an intense conversation with Aelith, her older sister and the colony leader. Their heads were bowed together and their bodies turned away from the rest of the crowd around them, and even through her haze Trynn’s curiosity was piqued.

Rill made her way through the crowd as stealthily as she could towards them, Trynn hot on her heels. The sisters were so intent on their conversation that they didn’t even notice when the girls hid behind a nearby rock formation, close enough that they could hear everything they were saying.

“We’re pulling back after this,” Aelith was saying, and Trynn shuffled around, trying to get comfortable while sitting on solid rock. “Mallox was too heavy of a blow for us; I can’t in good conscience send anyone else out there. Not now.”

“Are you sure?” Sarvirra asked. “If we stop patrolling, and the city finds us—"

“They won’t. I don’t want anyone out of the caves for the next six months unless they’re approved by me. Not a single person, Sarv.”

“The colonists won’t like this.”

“The colonists are frightened,” Aelith retorted. “ _Mallox_ has died, Sarvirra. _Mallox_. I haven’t seen them like this since Tryst died, and now you and I are the only ones left, and that terrifies me. If one of us dies, too, I don’t—"

“Don’t talk like that!” Sarvirra snapped.

Her sister only sighed. “I’m just trying to be realistic, here. We can’t just ignore the possibility.”

Sarvirra rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get going,” she said, and they disappeared into the crowd, their furious whispers starting back up.

“Let’s follow them,” Rill decided, and they scrambled after the two.

No sooner had they taken a few steps into the crowd that Trynn nearly slammed into a man she’d never seen before.

“Excuse me,” he said, steadying her by the shoulders.

He was tall and well built, with dark, slightly graying hair; he looked like one of the Igne soldiers that guarded the main entrance to the caves. There was a gun strapped to his right thigh and a long, barely noticeable scar reaching from his hairline down to his chin. His clothes were far too hot for someone about to leave the caves; it was a little bizarre. Instead of the loose, flowing fabric that everyone else was wearing, he wore a simple long sleeved shirt and a pair of cargo pants, complete with laced up combat boots.

He reached up a hand to rub nervously at the back of his neck; his fingers had scrapes on the knuckles that had only just begun to heal, and a neat row of stitches marched down the outside of his forearm.

“What do you want?” she snapped, shrugging his hands off her shoulders.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I wanted to introduce myself to Mallox’s remaining family. I’ve been told that’s you…?”

Trynn felt his words like a vice around her heart. “Yeah,” she answered. “It’s just us. We’re the only ones left.”

Rill’s hand gave hers a little squeeze, and she squeezed back.

He winced. “Yes, well. I wanted to, uh, extend my deepest apologies for what has happened. You see, my name is Kasich Torvar. Your father saved my life. If it weren’t for him…well, I’d probably be desert dust right now. It pains me that he had to give his life for mine.”

Behind her, trynn heard Rill give a little gasp. Trynn couldn’t breathe. Her entire chest felt constricted, and a hot ball of emotion lodged itself so deep in her throat it hurt. White-knuckled and nearly shaking, she turned her furious gaze up at him, and he stepped back a little at the force of it.

“Get out,” she ground out, even though all she wanted to do was hit him right in his stupid face.

“I’m sorry, I—” he stammered, but she didn’t care about _apologies_ , not now that she had nothing and no one. Apologies didn’t change a damn thing. The road to hell was paved with good intentions and lined with dead bodies, and she’d had enough of both to last a thousand lifetimes.

“ _Leave_ ,” she hissed, sight going blurry with hot tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “This is _your fault._ ”

He looked at her then, and she thought she saw understanding bloom in his eyes, but she didn’t give a damn about that either. He could choke on it, for all she cared.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

She watched him turn and push his way back into the crowd. The room was crowded enough that she soon lost track of him, and when he’d fully disappeared, she scrubbed harshly at her face with a sleeve. It came away wet; she hugged her arms tight around her, fingers digging into her skin as she willed herself to calm down, to keep all her emotions from spilling out like water from a vase. It _hurt,_ everything in her chest _hurt_ like she’d been punched, and as her nails carved red crescents into her arms, she focused on that instead, because pain was pain, but this was so much worse. She could deal with skinned knees, she could deal with bloody knuckles, but she couldn’t deal with this.

Gentle hands pried her fingers away from her skin, and she looked up into Rill’s tired face.

“What?” she demanded, giving a rough sniffle of her own. “You gonna tell me I was too much of an asshole to that guy, or what?”

Rill simply shook her head, pulling Trynn into a quiet corner, where they pressed their backs against the cold stone and sat with their knees pulled to their chins.

Trynn pressed her palms to her eyes hard enough to see stars. She leaned against the rough cave wall, willing her heart to stop its frantic galloping and her breathing to lose its ragged, hurt quality. Next to her, Rill cried quietly. Trynn could feel her wipe her face every few minutes. They pressed their shoulders together, chasing even the barest slice of comfort.

Aelith and Sarvirra found them there, later.

“We’re walking now, girls,” was all they said, and she let them pull her up and lead her and Rill away, feeling like nothing more than the empty shell of a girl who once had everything.

It was dangerous to have this many people outside of the caves at once, but for Mallox and others of importance, exceptions were usually made. They went at night, a long procession of mourners winding its way up the mountain to lay one of their own to rest again. Ribbons of every color were wrapped around forearms and clasped between praying fingers as thousands of colonists moved as one.

Trynn shuffled forward, each step a monumental weight towards something that felt so final, as if once she reached her destination, once they lit the pyre, then he really would be dead. There would be no coming back, no crazy hypotheticals, no what-ifs. He would no longer look like he was sleeping. He would simply be dead.

They reached the burning place, a large divot in the top of the mountain where the walls were high enough to shield any fires from view of the desert below. His body was placed on a large mound of wood in the center of the area, and as the colonists all filed into the divot, she and Rill took a place closest to the pyre.

Around her, the colonists had finished assembling and now stood quietly, eyes on Aelith as she climbed the stairs that led to the top of the pyre itself.

They’d wrapped his body completely for the walk up here, so Trynn couldn’t even see his face. She swallowed past a painful lump in her throat and waited for the colony leader to speak.

Aelith surveyed the crowd below her as silence fell. Her voice was ragged as she spoke the traditional funeral rites for the umpteenth time.

“Death is nothing new,” she recited. “Mallox Zenobia, with your sacrifice has come safety. You will be missed.”

“You will be missed,” chorused those below.

“Igne Natura Renovatur Integra,” Aelith continued. “Though fire, nature is reborn whole. Through fire, you are reborn to sleep among the stars. May you forever look down upon us and keep us safe. So in life, now in death.”

“So in life, now in death,” came the refrain.

All was silent for a moment, and when Aelith spoke again, her words were her own.

“Mallox was the finest fighter Utopium had to offer, and one of its bravest. Without him, this colony would not exist. Without him, we would have perished at the hands of the city. Throughout his life, he made sacrifice after sacrifice to save countless lives. Now, he has made the ultimate sacrifice, and for everything he has done for us, he will be truly loved and sorely missed.”

She pulled a blade from somewhere within her robes, slicing off a piece of the ribbon wrapped around her forearm and letting it drift down onto the pyre.

“Please take this offering, Mallox, and take this promise,” she recited. “You will be remembered.”

The colonists began to approach the pyre, drawing knives and cutting their own ribbons, only to place each piece within the pyre itself. One by one, each person gave their offering, small spots of color in the darkness and promises to remember him as he was in life. Trynn made her way forward, the golden ribbon on her wrist gleaming in the torchlight around her, and with her other hand she quickly withdrew his knife from its sheath. She pressed blade to golden fabric, slicing a piece from its knot’s loose end. Distantly, she noticed her hands shaking, but that was alright. Surely it was just cold out here; the desert was frigid at night, usually.

She reached up again, placing the cut piece of her ribbon onto the pyre itself, and followed Rill back to their previous spot. When the last person had given their offering and returned to the safety of the crowd, Aelith raised a torch above her head. “May you forever sleep among the stars. So in life, now in death.”

“So in life, now in death.”

The torch dropping from Aelith’s fingers felt like a monumental moment, like time itself had slowed. Nothing existed but Trynn, her father’s body, and a single flame. She lived lifetimes between then and the instant the fire reached his body, immediately igniting the pyre beneath it. She stepped back, the heat from the flames growing stronger with each passing second. Embers jumped into the dark sky above them, filling the black expanse with golden lights. The crackle of wood was loud, like gunshots in the silence after all the words. Acrid smoke filled her nose, the smell of a campfire layered over the stench of burning flesh, of burning hair, and her stomach roiled.

Next to her, Rill buried her face in her hands, shaking.

“Wait,” Trynn whispered, but no one heard her over the flames. Aelith descended the stairs again as the fire grew to impressive strength. The heat threatened to sear her face, but as her eyes watered, she stumbled forward again.

“Wait,” she said, louder this time. The colonists around her turned to look at her, but she barely noticed, not even when a pair of arms wrapped around her waist to keep her from walking straight into the fire. Her face was hot, everything was so hot, and the tears streaming down her face were drying almost as quickly as they were falling.

“Wait! That’s my dad, you can’t…you can’t take him, he’s all I have—”

“Trynn, he’s _gone_ , there’s nothing you can do—” the owner of the arms said, and it might have been Rill, but Trynn couldn’t care less, because he was _burning,_ he was _burning_ just like her mother had and she didn’t care what she had to do, _the stars_ _couldn’t have him._

One of the largest logs gave way with a loud crack, sending her father’s body plummeting into the center of the bonfire, and her legs finally gave out. All around them, the others were staring, some even coming close and trying to speak to her, to reassure her, but she couldn’t hear, could barely breathe.

One breath, two, and suddenly she needed to leave. Right now. She stumbled to her feet, grabbing Rill’s arms and pulling her with her as she ran.

Sometimes, the things that one noticed while not in the right mind weren’t anything that would have been noteworthy otherwise.

Later, she would think back to this moment and realize that this was the exact moment that broke her. Before her, a tall, dark skinned girl with brilliant amber eyes stared back at her. For just a second, Trynn’s heart stopped.

She pushed past the girl and took off through the crowd, and they didn’t stop running until they threw themselves into bed, holding each other until they both stopped shaking.


	2. Enough

There was blood in her mouth and a roaring in her ears.

She could taste iron between her teeth, could feel it leaking from a cut where her teeth had bit. The bruise blooming on her cheek was already making her head throb; it had been one hell of a punch. Her opponent had more than a foot on her, and if she was anyone else, she wouldn't have jumped into this fight headfirst the way she had. As it was, her anger had no other outlet besides this, to pick fights with the kids around her, regardless of her chances for winning. She didn't care if she won or not. No, what she was chasing was that rush, the ability to break and be broken at the same time, to feel the same way on the outside that she did on the inside. 

Her name was Trynn Zenobia and her father was dead.

Her lip had split sometime in the last few minutes and she could feel blood running down the side of her chin. She roughly wiped the back of a hand across her mouth, spitting a glob of blood and saliva to the cave floor. She could tell he was watching her, waiting for her to come running at him again, but she took a few seconds to settle into the pain before asking for more. 

Her eyes ran over him, cold and assessing. His name was Varian, an annoying, cocky asshole who thought the world was made just for him. He’d made a smart remark about her crying in class, to which she’d responded by taking his lunch tray and smacking him in the face with it.

He’d been shocked, certainly, but not as shocked as he’d been when she had thrown aside his lunch tray and socked him right in the nose. Brave of her, considering he was four cycles her elder and more than a foot taller, but this wasn’t the first fight she’d been in and it wouldn’t be her last.

One of his eyes was rimmed in purple and his nose was heavily bleeding, a trophy from the punch that had started this fight. Blood matted down his curly red hair, his freckles and pale skin painting a shocking background against the dark red smeared across his mouth.

He said something, but she didn't hear, didn’t care to listen. It mattered little what caused the fight; what was important was that it happened.

The crowd of people around them roared, appreciation and encouragement falling from screaming mouths. Fists pumped, children yelled, hands reached out to shove at their backs, to push them towards each other. One of his friends leaned forward and shouted something to him and his eyes burned with righteous indignation, finally tired of her lack of response.

He moved forward again, swinging wildly. She dodged, not fast enough, as his fist connected with her ear. Pain blossomed in her head as her world spun sideways and she stepped backwards, doing her best to not fall over.

She swayed, turning to face him again, and spat right in his face.

Dead silence descended around them as saliva and blood dripped down his cheek. If she had thought he looked furious before, it was nothing compared to his face now. “You little shit!” he hissed.

“What is going on here?”

The shrill voice cut through the crowd like a knife through butter. Trynn’s arm was suddenly caught in a vicelike grip, and she was yanked around to face the round face of Mrs. Poinsley, her teacher.

“Trynn Zenobia!” the frumpy little woman shrieked. “This is the third time this week I’ve caught you fighting!”

The noise in her ears had dulled from a roar to a ringing. She felt like she had just emerged from a pool of water, but her head was still full of sand. She could barely focus on the way the woman’s lips were moving, the fury on her face, the way her arm hurt as she was dragged away from the crowd and down the hall.

All she could focus on was the smirk on Varian’s bleeding face and the way his middle finger pointed upwards.

\--------

Only a few minutes had passed since Trynn had been forced into a chair in Mrs. Poinsley’s office when the door slammed open, disturbing the teacher’s long, droning form of chastisement.

The woman who strode in was not pleased, the look on her face one of tightly controlled fury. Long cycles as the colony leader and founder of the Igne Natura had rid Aelith of her explosive outbursts, but they had done nothing to temper her impatience. Three months of caring for Trynn in her parents’ stead while running a colony had clearly taken its toll on her, however, and judging by her expression, Trynn was fated to feel her full wrath.

“Trynn,” she growled.

“Aelith,” Trynn replied, unimpressed.

“I’ll take it from here, Glade,” the older woman nodded to Mrs. Poinsley, who inclined her head respectfully as she excused herself from the room. Her gaze fell back to Trynn, who had taken to scowling in her caretaker’s face.

“What are you gonna do this time, Aelith?” the girl challenged. “You can’t colony lock me; you already tried that, and everyone knows how to leave the caves anyway. Food rations and detention don’t mean shit to me. You’ve got to come up with something good this time, don’t you?”

Aelith’s eyes narrowed. “What was it this time, Trynn?” she shot back. “Did he look at you funny, or was he laughing too hard? Or maybe it was a new one, maybe he was eating his food in a strange order, or his footsteps were too loud!”

“Fuck you, Aelith! Varian really is an asshole, it’s not just me who thinks it!”

“So, you punched him in the face for the good of everyone?”

“That was an unintended side effect.”

“Damn it, Trynn, you’re so destructive I swear you’re a sandstorm in disguise! You broke his nose!”

“I did? Really? Bright.”

The older woman's eyebrow twitched. “No, Trynn! Not bright! Very not bright!”

Aelith’s shoulders sagged, and Trynn could suddenly read tiredness in the way she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen,” she began, voice quieter. “I took you in because your parents and I were part of the original Igne Natura. After your father died, I didn’t want you to be alone, but it’s been three months and it seems things are just getting worse. I can’t keep chasing after you when I have a whole colony to run. I just don't know what to do with you anymore, Trynn. How am I supposed to help you when you don't want to be helped? You're angry and violent around everyone else; you can't even go a week without getting into fights anymore.”

Trynn scowled at the wall; maybe if she refused to answer, Aelith would leave her alone.

The door slammed open and Rill rushed through it, panting. “Sorry, sorry, I tried to get here sooner but they didn’t want to let me—oh, hi Aelith,” she said, pulling up short.

Aelith sighed. “I’m glad you made it,” she said. “I have news for both of you, and maybe it will help keep you out of trouble, Trynn. You’re not to come to school tomorrow. You’re to go to the north training room at first light.”

“What?” Rill asked. “You don’t want us to go to school?”

“You’re only a few months from the end of class anyway, Rill, and Trynn has more than proven she needs a better outlet than school.”

“What sort of outlet?” Trynn asked suspiciously.

“There’s a recent city runner who’s volunteered to begin instructing others in your age range. He was a soldier before he came here, so he’ll be teaching you how to fight and defend yourselves.”

“Wait, what?” Trynn demanded.

“We haven’t had a concrete fighting program since the war, and with his help I think it’s time we finally started it back up again, especially since you kids won’t stop sneaking out of the colony no matter what I do,” Aelith said in exasperation.

“You want Trynn to learn how to fight?” Rill asked in disbelief. “Trynn, the one who keeps getting in trouble for fighting too much? You want her to get better at it?”

Aelith threw up her hands. “Look, at this point I have a bunch of children running around the caves and causing mayhem. I can’t keep an eye on every single one of you, and I thought learning some discipline might help fill your time.”

“Wait, then why am I a part of it now, too?” Rill said. “I know I used to pull pranks with Trynn, but I haven’t done it in a while, I promise!”

Trynn crossed her arms and fixed Aelith with a glare. “Don’t you get it, Rill? When she says children, she really means war orphans. There’s too many of us and she can’t keep us all in line anymore.”

Rill gaped at Aelith, who had the decency to glance away.

“It’s not as malicious as all that,” she protested. “I just thought it would be good for you to have something more productive to do with your time, because what you’re doing now clearly isn’t working.”

“I don’t want to do this stupid class!” Trynn burst out. “I only have a few more months until I can request a career, and I was gonna be a sun runner!

“Look, you can still be whatever you want later—” Aelith began, but Trynn cut her off.

“My dad was a sun runner!” she said loudly. “I don't want to be a soldier!”

“You won’t be training to be soldiers; we aren’t doing any fighting anymore. Think of it more like…an extracurricular.”

“One that fills up all our time,” Rill said flatly.

“Yes, exactly,” Aelith said. “And besides, Mallox was one of the best soldiers the city ever had, and if it weren’t for him the colony wouldn’t be around today. He only became a sun runner around five cycles ago because we went into hiding instead of fighting anymore. Besides, Kasich has personally requested you to—”

“Kasich?” Trynn spat, glowering up at Aelith. “You’re telling me he has the gall to want me in his class, after what he did?”

“Why don't you think before you speak, Trynn? This is the man Mallox died saving. He wants to repay you the only way he knows how!” Aelith said, and Trynn let out a humorless laugh.

“You’re right,” she said. “My dad did die saving him. If that man had never come, then my dad would still be alive.”

A tense moment passed between them before Aelith spoke again, voice quiet. “Mallox wouldn’t have wanted you to act this way,” she said sadly, and Trynn felt her face twist angrily.

“You don’t know _what_ he would have wanted!” she shouted. “He’s DEAD!”

This time, Aelith didn’t flinch, but her face turned dark at Trynn’s words. “At this point, you’ve forced my hand,” she said. “If you wanted to have freedom, then you’d have stayed out of trouble. Besides, with how much you’re fighting lately, I would have thought that you’d be excited to have a way to let your anger out.”

“Stop acting like you’re my mom!” Trynn shouted. “My mom is dead and so is my dad! Rill and I don’t have anyone left!”

Trynn was probably giving Aelith whiplash from how fast she was flipping through emotions. “You have me…” she began, reaching out a tentative hand, but Trynn pulled away with a glare.

“Well I don’t want you!” she snapped. “I want my real parents back!”

Aelith’s hand froze in midair, then pulled back as a painful expression flitted across her face. She looked away for a moment, fingers tangling themselves in the front of her shirt. Her eyes closed and she breathed out slowly; when she opened them again her demeanor had turned volatile again.

“If that’s how you feel, then so be it,” she said heatedly. “Now, you will be at the north training hall at exactly ten turns tomorrow, or so help me-”

“What are you gonna do, yell at me some more?” Trynn sneered, and Aelith’s eyes _blazed_.

“The stars save me, Trynn-” she began, dangerously close to shouting again, but Trynn cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there!” the girl said with a roll of her eyes. “Better than hanging around here getting yelled at.” She crossed her arms and looked away. Aelith only sighed again.

“Look, I’m sorry I yelled. Just...go home, get some rest. Take the rest of the day off, both of you.”

“Fine,” Trynn bit out, pushing past Aelith to head for the door. “It’s not like there’s anyone waiting for us at home anyway.”

For a moment, Aelith looked stricken, opening her mouth to say something else. Trynn found herself utterly done with this conversation, though, so before the woman could make a sound Trynn slipped out of the room, Rill hot on her heels.

\-----

Living in the desert was the absolute worst.

She hated all the dust; she hated the storms and the acid rain that destroyed the landscape cycle after cycle. She hated the heat and the dangerous animals and the fact that no matter how good you were at living here, death was always part of the equation.

She mostly hated that she _couldn’t_ hate it, even if she wanted to.

Living in the caves without her dad upset her. The other colonists whispered to each other when she passed. Sometimes they would stop her to say how sorry they were, and she hated that most of all. They had lost loved ones too, they said. They understood what it was like. They understood the pain.

They didn't understand anything. 

Trynn threw a rock off the hidden shelf she and Rill were sitting atop, watching water tumble down from a hole in the cave ceiling into a pool below and wishing they had the ability to leave this planet. To strike out on their own, in search of other colonies, other worlds where life and death weren't so well acquainted with one another. Maybe millions of miles away was a place that didn't feel so fucking stifling.

She threw another rock, watching it splash in the water. Sneaking around had always been one of her special talents, even before her parents' death. As it was, now she used her stealth to escape the haunting stares of her fellow colonists occasionally. She may have been one of the loudest and angriest kids in the caves, but when she wanted to be unseen, she was anything but conspicuous.

If anyone had asked, she’d begrudgingly admit that she really-sort-of-kind-of liked this ledge, a lot. It was easy to climb down here from the walkway directly overhead, thanks to a few thick vines that had wound themselves around a few columns of stone nearby. The sound of roaring water echoed up at them in strange but soothing ways, and there were plenty of rocks to throw when she was feeling particularly upset, which was often. Best of all, you couldn’t see the ledge from above or below, so it was a good place to loiter if you didn’t want to be found, or just wanted some time alone. Time with Rill counted as time alone.

They didn't have many things to her name. Most colonists didn't; things that had been important to the older generation had mostly been lost when they had first been forced into the caves. Expensive things lost their meaning when currency switched to the barter system, and no one in the caves had much need for a lot of things from before. When you’d been hunted for cycles, it just didn't make sense to keep things you couldn't easily carry.

She had never known her mother, but Mallox had kept a great many photos of her. The only thing she had that once belonged to Tryst Zenobia was a bead forehead charm that Trynn had worn ever since she could remember. And now that her dad was dead, she was all alone in the world. They had given her a box of his things containing the clothes he had been wearing and not much else. The shirt still had a singed hole where the bullet had gone through. She kept the rest of his things, but she burned that shirt.

In the box, though, had been a few other things. Apparently, he’d had a picture of Tryst in his pocket and judging from the well-worn edges and wrinkles adorning its surface, it had been in there for a while. She had received his pistol and his hunting knife, and these now lay on her rickety nightstand next to many old picture frames.

After his death Trynn had cleaned out his dresser in a moment of desperate loneliness, simultaneously wanting to surround herself with what was left of him and wanting to get rid of it. At the bottom of his pants drawer she had found an ornately carved mahogany box, and when she opened it, she found an immense stash of almost ancient love letters from her parents. She read through them that night, trying her hardest to not let her tears fall on the old paper. It was the one thing she’d hid from Rill, who had mementos from her own parents; these things, these objects, were all Trynn had of hers.

Two weeks after she’d wrapped her wrist in golden ribbon, after she’d received a jar full of ashes and a box full of memories and regrets, they carved his name in the memorial wall next to Tryst’s. May death never stop you, a few blocky letters read. Mallox Tristram Zenobia.

She thought that having a place to go to remember him would help, but it hadn't worked when it was just her mother's name on the wall and it didn't work now. Rock wasn't comforting. Rock wasn't warm. Rock was cold and hard.

Lately she felt like everything good in her life was gone.

Rill looked over at her, breaking the melancholy silence they’d settled into. “You still haven’t taken it off yet, have you?” she asked, kicking a rock over the ledge and leaning back on her arms.

Trynn threw another rock. “Nope.”

Rill hummed. “It’s been three months.”

Another rock sailed over the edge. “Yup.”

“How long do you think you’re gonna wear it for?”

“If you have something to say, then fucking say it,” Trynn snapped.

“Fine,” Rill said, one brow arched. “You need to take your ribbon off.”

Trynn glared at her. “Are you really gonna tell me I need to take off my dad’s ribbon? You aren’t my therapist!”

Rill kicked her ankle. “No, I’m _saying_ you need to take it off because it’s covered in blood and dirt. You haven’t cleaned those scrapes and I don’t want you getting some weird infection.”

Trynn looked down at her hand, at the formerly golden ribbon, now stained with dirt and blood and grime.

“Look, I don’t care what you do with it afterwards,” Rill continued. “Make it a necklace or glue it to your fucking wall, it doesn’t make a difference to me. But you need to take it off, and probably wash it too.”

Trynn turned away, clutching her wrist to her chest like a lifeline. Her breathing was shallow, ragged; her eyes burned.

Memories flashed through her head, unbidden. The sweet smell of tobacco in his pipe, the sound of him humming under his breath as he cooked on their tiny stove. She suddenly wanted to go home, even if nowadays home was nothing more than a space filled with thoughts far too loud for two children living alone.

She realized she’d stopped breathing sometime within the last few minutes and sucked in a shaky breath. She blinked and was surprised to find tears clinging to her lashes. She sniffed and scrubbed dirty hands over her face, not caring that she’d probably smeared dirt all down her cheeks in the process. She was fine, everything was fine.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

She heard Rill stand behind her, then arms wound around her waist, a warm cheek laying heavy against her back. “You need to,” she said softly.

“Okay,” Trynn finally whispered.

She couldn’t bring herself to watch as Rill pulled out a small knife and cut the ribbon from her hand. She barely felt it when her scrapes were cleaned with antiseptic from the first aid kit Rill always carried in her bag, nor did she notice when healing goo was smeared across her knuckles, as well as the bruises and cuts on her face. The hollow feeling she’d been fighting for months had come back full-force, and she could hardly breathe with the weight of it.

“Here,” Rill finally said, pressing the dirty, stained ribbon into Trynn’s hand, her scrapes already fully healed. Trynn closed her fingers around it, feeling the stretch of newly healed skin pull across her knuckles, and reveled in the burn.

“It hurts,” Trynn admitted.

Rill looked at her softly, a pity in her eyes that made Trynn want to weep. “I know.”

And if Trynn cried herself to sleep that night, well. Rill had her own room. She wasn’t around to hear.


	3. First Meetings

37th day of Mid Dust, 7 turns, Cycle 158

She woke before dawn the next day to the sound of Rill banging around in their tiny kitchen.

It wasn’t unusual, though she hated being awake this early. She wasn’t a morning person, but cycles of living with her dad and his tendency to sing her awake, loudly and off-key, had taught her to wake up early and easily a long time ago.

Now, her mornings were far too quiet.

She stumbled getting out of bed, tripping over blankets kicked to the floor sometime in the night. She rifled through the unfolded clothes spilling out of her open drawers in search of something to wear, noting with distaste that it was probably time to clean her room. Finally, she settled on a sand-colored cotton shirt, its loose fabric secured at the wrists and neck. Her pants were loose as well; such clothes in the desert not only kept the suns’ rays from burning the skin, but the looseness enabled temperature regulation in Desola’s harsh extremes. Around her neck wrapped golden chains. She made a mild effort to brush her hair, absently braiding a few gems into it. It looked nice enough, she guessed. It helped take her mind off things, at least.

Just before she left her room, she slipped her mother’s old forehead charm on. The bright red band was soft, made of a material that wasn’t made in the caves. Shiny white gems dangled down just above her eyebrows, connected by golden threads. She spared her face a glance in the mirror affixed to the stone wall near the door.

Mallox had always told her how much she looked like her mother with her band on. She couldn’t see it; she had the same blue eyes and the same bright blonde hair, but that was where the similarities ended. Her mother had been an otherworldly beauty, with a soft face and a softer smile. Trynn was all sharp edges and scowls, bloody noses and scraped knuckles. Her golden tanned skin showed an amount of time spent outside of the caves not common among other children her age. Her hands were calloused from so much time spent rock climbing, her muscles toned from hauling herself up the mountains above the caverns.

She grabbed her bag and wandered into the kitchen. Her home was small, a series of rooms carved into the rock wall over a few decades. Almost all the colonists had similar living arrangements, though there were a few who had found other, more creative ways to create their own space. Some built huts out of rocks or plants, while others merely carved a ledge out of the cliff-like cave walls and lived there, their views of the caverns nearly unparalleled.

“Morning,” Rill said, somewhat cheerfully. Neither of them had been the same since Mallox died, though Rill was the only one of them who ever tried to put on a happy face. At this point Trynn never bothered.

“Morning,” she grunted, slipping into a chair around the small table in the middle of the kitchen. When Mallox was still alive, the three of them had almost always had meals in the cafeteria-like room in the middle of the caverns. Nowadays, though, neither of them was very interested in socializing anymore, so Rill cooked for them instead. Trynn wished she could help, but she was an absolutely abysmal cook and Rill insisted she enjoyed it, so Trynn had long since let it go.

Rill set a large plate of pancakes on the table and sat down. “Don’t forget, we start that class today,” she said, pouring herself some orange juice and loading up her plate.

Trynn grimaced. “How could I forget?” she said petulantly, starting to shovel food into her mouth. “Aelith wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it yesterday.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Rill tutted absently, though she was used to Trynn’s terrible manners by now, and Trynn didn’t think she was expecting an apology or a change in behavior. “I wanted to talk to you about something I’ve been thinking about lately.”

Trynn grunted in assent, most of her focus on the plate in front of her.

“We need to make friends with other people,” Rill said.

Trynn froze, fork halfway to her open mouth, then snorted. “Are you breaking up with me, Rill?” she asked, grinning a cracked smile that felt foreign on her face. “Is this the part of the conversation where you say, ‘ _it’s not you, it’s me_?’”

Rill laughed, a delighted sound that Trynn hadn’t heard in months. “No,” she said, smiling softly. “I just think the two of us need to try being more social with other people. Being isolated with just us isn’t helping at all.” She pointed her fork at Trynn, leveling her with a hard stare. “I want us to stop being so miserable, and the only way we can do that is if we make friends. You need to make at least one friend in this class.”

Trynn slid down in her chair, huffing. “That’s stupid,” she said. “Why can’t we keep to just us in this class? I mean, there might not even be anyone worth talking to when we get there.”

“Who knows?” Rill said, shrugging. “I just wanted you to know I won’t be hanging out with you as much, so I don’t want you relying on just me anymore. Be friendly. Talk to people. Maybe try being nice for once.”

With a grunt of irritation, Trynn pillowed her head on her arms. Her nose pressed to the cold table, her breath showing itself in warm little huffs of condensation atop the polished wood beneath her.

When a moment passed with no answer, she felt the other girl shift impatiently in her seat. “Trynn? Hello?” Rill said, and Trynn knew she was pushing it with how childish she could act before Rill snapped at her.

“I really don’t fucking want to do this,” Trynn whined, her voice muffled behind her arms. The end of the day already couldn’t come fast enough, and it had just started.

Rill leaned her chair back on two legs and pressed her knees against the table’s edge. “I know,” she said, just like yesterday but not quite the same.

\---------------

They were almost late.

Trynn had tried putting off leaving the house for as long as possible, but even Rill’s considerable patience was quickly wearing thin and Trynn wasn’t eager to have Rill mad at her before the suns were even up; this day was going to suck enough as it was. Instead, Trynn shoved her things into her bag without complaint and they hurried through the halls as quickly as they could.

Their path took them through the main room in the cavern, which was the central hub of the colony, with dozens of hallways branching off from it like spokes on a wheel. It was entirely filled with rows and rows of every edible plant imaginable, both from Earth and other colony planets. Each plant grew much faster than they naturally did, tended to by botanical and agricultural experts and slathered in strange smelling chemicals. The room was a veritable jungle hidden almost completely underground. The bustle of this room was different from any other space in the colony. The entire room was filled with people, some eating straight from trees and bushes, others harvesting crops into wheelbarrows and baskets. Workers trimmed branches, sprayed plants with special chemicals, or a multitude of other duties crucial to keeping the entire colony fed.

The room itself was the largest one in the colony. It was longer than it was wide, with one end of the room at least a quarter mile away from the other. Overhead, an enormous skylight bathed the whole room in sunshine. A steady stream of water from the mountains above flowed directly into a large manmade lake at the very center of the room, making this the ideal room to grow all the food needed for the colony. From the lake extended huge metal pipes that reached to the ceiling, branching off and moving to bring water to every corner of the colony.

A large glass structure stood in the center of the room, filled with sand and fitted into a series of gears and pendulums. As the sand fell from the top chamber into the bottom, etchings on the surface of the glass marked the passage of time, specifically the turns of the twin suns, Transullo and Transirra, as they revolved around each other in their journey across the sky. There were thirty-two full turns in the day, and thirty-two notches set into each chamber of the structure. At midnight, the gears automatically flipped the turnglass over for the whole cycle to start over again.

She’d learned in school that on the origin planet, Earth, their measurement of time was slightly different. Back when Desola was still in contact with the other colonies, they had used a form of timekeeping called the cosmic timescale. Now, cut off from the rest of the universe and paranoid of reaching out for help, lest the city intercept any transmissions and find them, the Igne Natura only used the standard Desolan measurements of time. Earth measurements had no place on this planet anymore.

Granted, no one alive today had even been to Earth, not on Desola at least. She had heard the stories, same as all the other kids, of how the first Desolans had come here long, long ago, fleeing a dying planet, like so many others across the universe. Humanity had scattered itself to the winds after destroying its ancestral home through negligence, and here they were, on this desert of a planet, as a result.

Trynn did not care. She was young, and only had eyes for Desola; what did she care for tales of another planet, so far removed from everything she had ever known? As far as she knew, the city itself wasn’t even in contact with the other colonies anymore, so what did it matter? When every day was a fight for survival, it didn’t do to walk around with your head in the clouds. The only humans she cared for were the ones living in the caves, and even those were few and far between lately.

They could hear voices ahead a few minutes after they’d passed through the main room; the north training room was just up ahead.

“Good, I don’t think they’ve started yet,” Rill said, quickening her steps. Trynn ambled along after her, not bothering to speed up. She shifted her tote bag off her shoulder and hoisted it behind her head, both arms clutching at the straps over her head. _You’re irritated,_ she told herself, like a mantra. _You’re mad. You don’t want to be here, now make sure everyone here knows it._ She slapped a scowl on her face, doing her best to exude an aura of _Don’t fucking talk to me._

“What the hell’s wrong with your face?” Rill demanded, throwing a look over her shoulder. “You look constipated. Stop trying to look intimidating; you’re way too short for it to be effective. You’re like an angry kitten.”

“Fuck you!” Trynn said, scowling for real.

Rill just rolled her eyes, coming to a stop at the door to the training room. “Would you stop fucking pouting and hurry up? I swear, you make everything ten times worse when you act like this.”

Trynn jogged up to her, kicking open the door and nearly slamming it against the wall. Rill kicked her in the shin.

“ _Behave_ ,” she insisted, brushing past her into the room.

Trynn followed, her eyes sweeping around the room absently. She opened her mouth to reply—

—and froze.

Varian was there.

He was leaning back against a table, arms crossed, smirking. He was deep in conversation with his twin sister, Veria, who was leaning forward over the table next to him and laughing. Under his eyes, yellowing bruises painted his face, but his nose was set; he must have gone to the hospital after their fight to get his injuries healed.

Varian and Veria Alwood weren’t identical twins, but you’d hardly know it from the way they acted. They shared the same bottle-bright red hair, the same freckles, the same bright green eyes. The opposite sides of their heads were shaved, so when they stood side by side it was like they were mirrored images of each other. They were tall, more than a foot taller than Trynn, though they were four full years older than her, so it was to be expected. They were both old enough to already have received their _gilgol,_ a set of intricate tattoos that was supposed to represent the shape and color of a person’s soul, worn on their skin for all to see. Unusually, they’d chosen to get theirs on the side of their faces, branching out from the end of one eye to flow down the side of the neck in a shade of green almost as bright as their eyes. Their designs, once again, were mirroring complements of each other; where Varian’s swirled up in places, Veria’s swirled down, and vice versa.

“Hey, isn’t that the little girl who broke your nose?” Veria said, interrupting her brother’s story about how he’d recently learned how to make gunpowder out of a type of rock commonly found in the caves. She shot a lazy smirk over at him, and his head whipped around in surprise. “Can’t believe you got your ass kicked by a ten-year-old.”

“The fuck are you doing here?” he spat at Trynn.

Trynn huffed. If that’s how he wanted to play it, she’d play right back. She wasn’t scared of him before, and she sure as hell wasn’t scared of him now. “Don’t you have some trash cans to light on fire, Varian,” she said flatly.

Veria hummed. “Wow,” she said. “You kind of suck, don’t you?”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Rill snapped. Veria only smiled, a slow quirk of her lips like she had a particularly juicy secret.

“Look, I honestly couldn’t give a shit less about you two,” she drawled, resting her head in one hand and regarding the two with smoky half-lidded eyes, one corner of her purple-painted lips quirked up just slightly. “I just like messing with my brother.”

“Nice going, dipshit,” he growled. “Good job getting us expelled and put in this shitty class, whatever the fuck it’s supposed to be.”

“Aw, is someone mad because they lost to a _little girl_?” Trynn needled.

“Fuck you,” Varian snapped. He straightened up suddenly and glared down at Trynn. “If Poinsley hadn’t pulled your ass away I would have beat the shit out of you.”

“What the hell’s your deal?” Rill demanded.

“You know, your nose looks a lot better. How long did it take them to reset it yesterday?” Trynn sneered.

Through it all, Veria had watched with her head on her hand, grinning leisurely, draping herself over the table like the insults being flung were nothing but a source of entertainment for her.

As her brother took a step forward, though, she finally spoke up. “Varian,” she called languidly, like she didn’t care one way or the other if he answered, “shut the fuck up.”

He pulled up short, ostensibly doing his best to murder Trynn with his eyes. He trembled, like he wanted to lunge at her, and for a moment Trynn thought he might.

Her hands clenched into fists at her side. _Let him come._

“Oh, hey, whoa, what’s going on in here?”

Trynn shot a look over her shoulder to see a kid with jet black hair and a large bag slung over his shoulder pausing in the doorway. He was probably 16 or 17, one steely grey eye fixed on them, the other covered by a white bandage. “What, um…what are you guys doing?”

Trynn looked back at the other three, taking in their defensive postures and how Varian was busy trying to loom over Trynn, really milking his height advantage for everything it was worth.

“Just getting acquainted with each other,” Veria said with a lazy smile, catching her brother’s sleeve and tugging him back. “Come on, V, let’s go sit over there.”

Varian grunted, but let his sister pull him away without another glance at Trynn, who immediately turned to Rill and began complaining.

“What a fun class this will be,” Trynn said, eyebrows raised as if to say _this was entirely your idea and I was right about how terrible it was_. “I’ve got one sibling who keeps trying to fight me, and one who keeps antagonizing him but wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire. I told you this would be a fun class, didn’t I?”

“So much fun,” Rill said, too exasperated to even argue.

“I bet if I—” Trynn began, stuttering to a stop as yet another person walked in.

She was tall, almost as tall as the twins. She didn’t just walk, she _sauntered,_ and Trynn got the distinct impression she was far more used to wearing heels than the black flats she had on right now. Her eyes, a bright amber-gold that Trynn had never seen before, were the same color as her _gilgol_ , which practically glowed against her dark skin. It was all straight, parallel lines, like computer circuitry, jutting back from her eyes and down her temples, almost like the twins’.

The others looked at the newcomer, and she slowed to a stop, raising a single brow at all the eyes on her. “Uh, hi,” she said. “Can I…help you?”

Rill inhaled, a quick, sharp sound. “You’re the girl from the city!” she exclaimed. “Those are cybernetics, aren’t they?”

The girl opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by footsteps behind her.

Aelith stood there, a livid expression on her face again. Behind her followed a man who looked as tired as Trynn felt. His dark brown hair had a few gray streaks in it, and the stubble on his face was flecked with white. He had deep brown eyes that spoke of hardship and pain.

He seemed vaguely familiar to her, and she was sure she had seen him before.

Aelith began to scold them, saying they hadn’t even begun training yet and were already acting like undisciplined, whiny children, but Trynn barely registered it. She stared hard at the man, who was glancing absently around the room. She knew she had seen him; he was so familiar. It was right there on the tip of her tongue.

The moment their eyes met in the man’s bored sweep around the room, she remembered.

This was the man who Mallox had died trying to save. She had completely forgotten that he would be her teacher.

Now, though.

It should be Mallox standing there. Mallox, and not this man who looked so sad. Mallox had taught her to love the desert, the sunrise, everything she had ever known. Mallox was her light, her laughter, her guiding force. Mallox was dead.

And now this man, this farce, this piece of shit had the gall to appear in front of her, to offer to teach her to fight, to kill. Mallox had loved teaching her to see the beauty in everything; Kasich Torvar taught the promise of death, and nothing else.

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

“Trynn!” Aelith barked, noticing the girl was not paying attention to her lecture like the others. “Are you even listening?”

The blonde’s gaze snapped back to Aelith, fury burning in her eyes. “You expect me to sit here and learn how to fight? From him?”

“Watch your tongue, Trynn!” the Igne leader replied. “I’ve had enough of your attitude to last me a lifetime. Yes, I do expect you to learn from him, and I expect you to treat Kasich with the respect he deserves. Now be quiet!”

Trynn glared at her but shut her mouth.

“Thank you. Now if we’re done with our interruptions, I’d like to introduce you all to Kasich Torvar. He will be your teacher from here on out. This is an experimental class for now; if things go well, I’ll add others to your group, so do your best. And no fighting,” she said, pointedly looking at both Trynn and Varian. The redhead scoffed while Trynn just rolled her eyes.

“Now, Kasich, I will leave you to it,” Aelith continued. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if they give you any trouble. If there’s anything you might need for training, please ask Sarvirra, my sister. The kids all know what she looks like.”

“I’m not a kid,” Trynn snapped.

“You’re right, you’re a crybaby,” Varian jeered.

Quicker than anyone could see, she spun around and made an incredibly rude gesture.

“Hey!” the Igne leader snapped. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You two better knock that shit off right now, or so help me-”

“Yeah, yeah, Aelith, you’ll come up with something suitably scary or whatever. We get it,” Trynn said, rolling her eyes.

“Trynn, I know you don’t want to be here, but can you at least try to get along?” Aelith sighed.

Trynn crossed her arms and blew a stray piece of hair out of her face disinterestedly. “Whatever.”

The older woman shot her an irritated look, then turned to Kasich. “Well, on that note,” she began, “I will leave you to it.” With a curt nod, she left the room.

Most of the others turned expectantly to him. Trynn kept her gaze on an interesting crack in the ceiling.

“Well,” Kasich began. His voice was low and gravelly. “Why don’t we start by introducing ourselves? Tell me your name, and what sort of things you enjoy. I’ll start.” He took a moment to clear his throat before continuing.

“My name, as you know now, is Kasich. I came from the city almost three months ago, and I’m still getting used to life inside the colony. I was a soldier, and I have an extensive education in many types of fighting, even some that came from Earth.”

He gestured towards the dark-haired boy. “You. Why don’t you go next?” he asked. “Tell me about yourself.”

The boy stuck his hands in his pockets and flipped his hair out of his eyes. He was tall, maybe only a few units shorter than Varian and Veria, and wore no jewelry, which was odd. One small braid, wrapped in golden thread, was the only decoration she could see, and his clothes were dark, darker than was smart for anyone living in a desert.

He spoke, and his voice was low, gaze sharp, but by the time he said his name she’d already begun to tune him out. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, humming some nameless tune in her head and wondering how long she was going to have to be there.

The first lesson wasn’t even really a lesson, per se. Kasich had them exercising the entire time, running laps and doing push-ups. Varian spent most of the lesson complaining about it, and for once, Trynn found herself agreeing with him, though like hell she’d say it out loud. A few hours in, though, Kasich showed them how to wrap their hands with cloth so that when he finally let them loose on some punching bags, they didn’t injure their hands.

“Don’t ever train without hand wraps,” Kasich told them. “In fact, every time you come into this classroom, I want your hands to be wrapped. A lot of what I’m going to teach you involves hand-to-hand, and the last thing I need is one of you breaking your fingers.”

“What sorts of things will we be learning?” the dark-skinned girl asked.

“We’ll start with kickboxing and mixed martial arts, and when I think you’re ready, we’ll move on to training with various weapons.”

“How long will that take?” Varian asked impatiently. “I want to shoot something.”

“Guns are not toys,” Kasich said, staring him down. “If you don’t understand the severity of using weapons, then you won’t learn them at all. Am I clear?”

Varian huffed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Anyway, to answer your question, how long your training takes to move on depends entirely on you. If you apply yourselves during the lessons, we’ll move on very quickly. We do have quite a lot to cover, and I’d rather not take forever to teach you one specific thing. There’s quite a lot I’d like to teach you, and I’m not sure how long Aelith will want this class to go on for.

“As it is, it’s getting late. I’ll let you all get out of here, but be well rested for tomorrow. As you’ve seen today, these classes will not be easy, and if you don’t get enough sleep, I assure you, you’ll regret it. Class dismissed.”

After Kasich finally called an end to class that day, Trynn and Rill dawdled, packing their things up slowly and discussing the class. They’d been just about ready to leave when Veria walked up behind them.

“You know he’s only like that with you, right?” she said without preamble, and Trynn had to scramble to catch up.

“What?” Trynn said, feeling off balance at the very beginning of the conversation.

“It’s literally just you,” Veria explained, hooded eyes appraising the two younger girls silently. “I don’t know what his deal is, or what yours is either, honestly.”

Trynn bristled. “Fuck you!”

Veria just stared at her, unimpressed. “Okay, whatever,” she said finally, turning and wandering off after her brother, who’d finished gathering their bags and sat near the door impatiently.

The two girls were silent for a moment, just watching her walk away, each of them wondering what the fuck they’d gotten themselves into.

“She’s like a cat,” Rill said suddenly, and Trynn found she agreed. “She’s like a really sneaky cat, and he’s like a big angry dog, and I don’t know how to deal with either of them.”

“Yeah, this is gonna suck if they keep sniffing around us like that,” Trynn said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and waiting for Rill to finish packing her bag. “You make friends with either of the others?”

“Oh!” Rill said, looking around them excitedly. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to that girl from the city. Is she still here?”

Trynn shook her head. “She was the first person out the door, I think.”

The other girl let out a low huff. “Aw. I think I heard her tell the teacher her name is Marlowe, but I wanted to ask her about her cybers. I’ve heard of them but never seen them.”

“Her cybers?”

“Yeah, she had them all over, didn’t you see?” Rill said, grabbing her bag and falling into step with Trynn. “Her eyes were so yellow; they’ve got to be fake. And I’m pretty sure her _gilgol_ were glowing, though it was a little hard to tell.”

“I don’t think I noticed. I was mostly focused on the twins,” Trynn said flatly.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to look. Hey, let’s swing by the market on the way home. I want steak and we’re all out.”

“Mmmm, I _love_ your falregg steak.”


End file.
